


we could stop runnin'

by independentalto



Series: (all that i can hear is) a simple song [16]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: For most of her life, Bobbi's battle was between her heart and head.Then came Jemma Simmons.
Relationships: Bobbi Morse/Jemma Simmons
Series: (all that i can hear is) a simple song [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594819
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	we could stop runnin'

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of ["Stop Runnin'"](https://open.spotify.com/track/54hPqP7efMWTMiaBmnt1Au) by Liz Lokre.

The sound of a key scraping loudly in the lock was normally enough to wake anyone, but as Bobbi stepped into the oddly-quiet apartment, the silence that greeted her was loud enough to slap her in the face. Huh. Normally, her dog Buster would’ve at least come running to greet her. Sighing, she scrubbed at her face. She must’ve been at the office longer than she imagined – it wasn’t her fault junior lawyers were incompetent and incapable of filling out paperwork.

_And_ it seemed she’d missed dinner, she sighed, catching sight of the dimly-lit candles still flickering on the table. A single plate of salmon and broccoli sat under a plastic covering, fork and knife unmoved from where they’d been set who knew how long ago. The candles went out with a small puff of air, plate scooped into the fridge, silverware tucked quietly into a drawer in the kitchen for next use.

The only question was, who…?

It was only after she’d hung up her jacket and and made sure the table was clean that she noticed the slight lump on her couch, the night sky casting a cloak that allowed them to blend in with the couch. _Jemma_. A small smile touched Bobbi’s face as she padded across the carpet to crouch on the floor, gently brushing a hazelnut curl out of the other woman’s face.

Of _course_ Jemma would’ve gone through the trouble to make her dinner. Guiltily, Bobbi flashed back to all of the occasions her phone had vibrated during her intense paperwork session, telling herself sternly that the messages could wait. Had she known they were from Jemma, she would’ve been on her way home hours ago, junior lawyers be damned.

Which, of course, caused a frown to crease Bobbi’s face as the thought flitted across her brain. She glanced back at Jemma, who was still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the reckoning she was causing in her girlfriend’s worldviews. She really _would_ give anything for Jemma, she mused, and wondered when she’d started prioritizing her heart over her head.

Bobbi’s head and heart had been at odds for as long as she could remember, her desire to dispute her entire town’s claims that ‘no blonde airhead could make it’ overshadowing even the slightest inkling of attractions she’d had over the years. It was well known even when she went to college and all throughout law school that she was the untouchable Bobbi Morse, the ice queen with the draw of a bright light but the exterior of dry ice.

(Figuring out she was attracted to both men and women didn’t faze her in the slightest – although when she thought about it, her few friendships and fixations _did_ make sense.)

Love had always been a game for people to play, she’d told herself, a figment of the mind comprised of different chemicals in the brain. Always a game for _other_ people to play, a figment of imagination _other_ people were happy to fulfill. Love was a matter of the heart; matters of the heart were always to be boxed away.

She herself would never play the game. No, she knew better than that. Better to be accompanied only by herself for the rest of her life than to potentially let someone in and have them shatter everything you had. And Bobbi thought she’d been doing pretty well thus far.

But then, of course, all of that had been derailed one day when she’d swung by Biogen, the firm’s latest client, and unkowingly-on-accident spilled coffee all over their chief biochemist.

_"Oh my god, I am so sorry." The apology was out of Bobbi’s mouth before she could even process the extent of the damage she’d done to the poor woman’s blouse. "I – I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I can absolutely pay for any dry cleaning that needs to be done for that – "_

_“Quite honestly, I should be the one thanking you,” the woman chuckled, and oh, she had a British accent. If there was anything Bobbi was a sucker for (when she was a sucker for anything at all), it was accents. “Now I won’t have to wear this horrid thing to my meeting.” Still half-stuck on her apology, she watched as the other woman turned and leaned, wringing the excess coffee out of her shirt. “A public service, really. I can’t thank you enough.”_

_“At least let me buy you a cup of coffee to make up for it,” Bobbi pressed, wringing her hands. “It’s the least I can do.” She’d be late for her meeting, but it was worth it if she’d be able to buy a coffee for a pretty woman._

_Was it her imagination, or was that a grimace of regret that flashed across the other woman’s face?_

_“Unfortunately, as much as I’d love that, I’ve a meeting, and any time left before it I’ve got to spend_ _finding a new blouse. Truly, though, thank you,” she said again, and flashed Bobbi an amused smile that had her immediately wishing to see it again. “Perhaps I’ll be seeing you around,” were her parting words, and Bobbi was left watching the mesmerizing swing of a ponytail and a large puddle of coffee on the floor._

_It was only when a janitor bustled by to mop up the coffee stain and gave her a weird look that she remembered the reason she was at Biogen to begin with, and – yep, of course she was – she was late for her meeting. Ditching the now-empty cup of coffee in her hand, Bobbi half-dashed throughout the building, only stopping twice to ask for directions to Jemma Simmons’ office._

_By the time she reached the door, not only was she gulping down large amounts of air, her obliques had decided it would be a great moment to begin cramping. “Okay, okay, I get it,” she huffed at her stomach. “No more side crunches. But only for the rest of the week.” Just as she was about to knock on the door, it swung open to reveal an extremely confused woman, hazel eyes widening at the sight outside her office._

_“Miss, are you alright – oh.” Somewhere between waves of pain, Bobbi looked up as well, mouth dropping open as she also realized whose office she was standing outside of. “Well, this is certainly a surprise.”_

_Bobbi knew her facade of professionalism was in her brain somewhere. She just couldn’t access it at the current moment. “Jemma Simmons?” she finally managed to get out. “I’m Bobbi Morse. I’ll be working with you on the wrongful death lawsuit?” Nice one, Bob, her brain snarked. Real nice one._

_And at least Jemma hadn’t been lying about changing her blouse, she noted. Nor had she been lying about the fact that it really was ugly as all get-out. Jemma’s current blouse was now a light shade of coral pink and dotted with a slight desert flower pattern, in comparison to the dark-turquoise monstrosity she’d had on before._

_“Nice to see you again, Miss Morse,” Jemma chuckled, opening the door wider to let Bobbi in; the blonde all but stumbled to her seat. Unaware of her effect, Jemma shut the door behind her before turning to a table. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?”_

_“So you wouldn’t have taken the coffee,” Apparently, Bobbi’s brain was still in easy mode, even as the logical part of her brain demanded to be let back in. “Sorry, that was unprofessional. Yes, I’d love some.”_

_The tea was clean, light, and tasted slightly of blueberry and peach. It was the best fucking tea Bobbi’d tasted in her entire life. “So, obviously, I’ve read the overview of the case,” she offered as Jemma delicately took a sip of her tea. “What are your thoughts on it?”_

_Jemma’s face soured, and Bobbi found herself wishing a heaping amount of inconveniences on whoever had filed the lawsuit in the first place. “I think it’s rubbish, of course,” she scoffed, and Bobbi raised an eyebrow, silently inviting her to continue. “There’s no way any of our products could result in that cause of death. Not without outside help, and even then, I’d imagine it’d be awfully hard…”_

_The rest of the meeting passed by in a blur, and both parties found themselves captivated by the other’s animation with the case – Jemma with Bobbi’s surprising knowledge of biochemistry, Bobbi with the amount of pride and passion Jemma took in her work. “Well, I think it’s fair to say we’ve got a fair case, Miss Simmons,” she said at the end, rising to pack her bag. “We’ll be in touch some time next week regarding evidence, trials, court dates and all of that.”_

_“I appreciate the transparency,” Jemma nodded. “Hopefully, we can get this all over with as soon as possible.” She and Bobbi walked the short five steps to the office door, opening it to let the other woman out._

_And yet, both of them stood there without making a move._

_Fuck it. Bobbi took a deep breath. “If you don’t have anything to do this afternoon, Miss Simmons,” she began, and Jemma deftly raised an eyebrow. “perhaps I could get you a muffin to replace that blouse I destroyed?”_

_Jemma just reached for her coat with the same amused smile from before. “Only if you call me Jemma,” she said, and Bobbi’s eyes widened. “And tell me, Miss Morse, have you ever had a proper English scone?”_

She hadn’t meant to keep seeing Jemma. She really hadn’t. But one scone date at the local teashop had turned into two, then three, until it became an unspoken ritual after their weekly legal briefings.

And even then, Bobbi’d meant to keep the other woman at an arm’s distance. After all, she hadn’t made it yet: despite being on the Biogen case, she was still logging long hours at the office, double and triple-checking the senior lawyers’ paperwork to make sure all of it was filled out correctly; in some cases, that it was filled out at all.

Before she knew it, they were even close friends – Jemma would meet Bobbi at her apartment for wine nights, Bobbi would on occasion attend game nights at Jemma’s apartments with her friends. For the first time, she was finding out what it was like to have a little bit of heart in her life. And even her head couldn’t fault her for it: she was waking up happier, more productive, more at peace than she’d felt in a long time.

Which was why when, during one particularly entertaining wine night, she’d jokingly presented Jemma with a key to her apartment, claiming her wine fridge was the only thing she had to offer in return. _“You’ve given me so much,”_ she’d said over her sixth glass of the night. _“The least I can let you do is let you raid my wine fridge every now and again when I’m not home.”_

(And when she occasionally woke up to plates of breakfast left on her dining room table without a soul in the apartment to accompany it, she sent Jemma a new bottle of wine as a thank-you – but not without quashing the small spring in her heart that wished the other woman had stuck around. Or that she’d never left.)

She hadn’t even intended to fall into a relationship. It’d come after one too many empty nights in bed, the warmth of Jemma’s body still a ghost in her arms long after her friend had left; it’d certainly solidified itself the first time she’d met Daisy Johnson, Jemma’s college friend wrapping herself around the tiny brunette with a familiarity Bobbi ached to have yet itched to hate Daisy for already having.

_“Bobbi, right?” Daisy asked later that night, the two of them sequestered in the kitchen under the guise of having volunteered to get more wine. “Look, I’ll get right to the point: Jemma and I are just friends. Make your move.”_

_Miraculous as it was, Bobbi just managed to keep her grip on the bottle of wine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said dumbly, just as a nervous swarm of bees started up in her stomach. “Jemma and I are just friends. She can be with whoever she wants.”_

_“I see the way you look at her,” Daisy said seriously. She popped the cork on a bottle of wine, nonchalantly refilling the glasses. “Like she’s someone that could slip away at any second. And you look at me like I’ve just killed her first kid.” Bobbi sighed. If she was wearing her emotions that plainly on her sleeve, who knew what else she was telling._

_“Because she could,” she admitted, and Daisy looked up at her in surprise. “I’ve been working for success all my life. I don’t fucking know how it happened, but Jemma’s been one of the best things to ever happen. I’m honestly just waiting for her to realize that there are better friends than me.”_

_“Trust me, she doesn’t want better,” Daisy twisted the cork back into the bottle of rose with fervor. “She wants you. I’ve only been in the room with the both of you for what, two hours?” Bobbi shrugged. “And she looks at you like you’re the answers to everything she’s been searching for in life.”_

_“You know the only thing she’s talked nonstop about since I’ve gotten here?” she asked, pausing on her way back to the living room. The chatter level was beginning to rise again, a sign that someone had either won or cheated. “You. I don’t think I’ve heard a single word about anything or anyone else.”_

(Bobbi didn’t want to think about the fact that her heart was bleeding so plainly, or that she’d captured Jemma’s so easily in return.)

She’d showed up at Jemma’s office the next day, a teapot in her hand and her heart making a rare presence in her throat. The night before had been tumultuous, her head and heart continuously arguing back and forth to the point where she’d wound up taking several deep breaths on the fire escape just to calm her speeding heart rate.

_I deserve this._

_Not yet, you don’t. You play the game now, you’re just like everyone else._

_No one said I loved her. I just want to ask her out, is all._

_And what if you do fall in love with her?_ Bobbi’s heart had had no answer for that.

Still, she’d shown up after downing a quad espresso from the Starbucks down the street, the porcelain shaking slightly in her hands. (Honestly, she was surprised she hadn’t thrown up.)

To her credit, Jemma hadn’t slammed the door in her face when Bobbi’s stuttered out the words like a nervous fool. Instead, she’d taken the teapot out of her hands, gently placed it on a side table next to her regular teapot, and pressed the softest of kisses to her lips, so soft that Bobbi actually pressed two fingers to her mouth just to make sure it’d happened.

_“I’d been wondering if I had to ask you out myself,” was all she said, her accent gentle and lilting. “Now how about we get you home, you look dead on your feet.”_

And for the most part, things didn’t change between them. Wine nights were still present, with the added benefit of the occasional makeout session. Bobbi still attended game nights, but at the beginning of every round, Jemma got to curl into her side like a small, contented kitten.

For all intents and purposes, it was perfect. In Bobbi’s mind, she wasn’t playing the game of love – it was a game of attraction and company. And nothing was wrong with either game, as long as she didn’t screw it up by falling in love.

But now, with Bobbi’s brain currently possessing the coherence of someone being repeatedly sprayed in the face with a water gun and her heart melting at the sight of her tiny girlfriend passed out on the couch, she found that maybe it was time to at least try playing the game. Maybe it was time to stop running from her heart’s pleas and to just listen to what it wanted to say.

Because for the first time in a long time, Bobbi had come home to someone waiting for her that handn’t been a canine. She’d come home to a home. No legal accomplishment, she figured, could ever top the content that had smothered her heart upon seeing the dimly lit candles and covered meal.

And maybe she would wake up in the morning brokenhearted, and maybe in the long run it would turn out to be the biggest mistake of her life. But tonight, she reasoned as she gently gathered a still-sleeping Jemma in her arms and padded towards the bedroom, tonight she would let herself fall.

Tonight, she mused as she slid into bed and wrapped her arms around the most precious thing in her world, she would bask in the warmth that was being in love for the first time.

_I deserve this._


End file.
